Colt grinned his goodbye, and Bree wiggled her fingers in a bashful wave.
Clearly, she’d already succumbed to his charm. Penny would have to give her a lecture on the danger of “those kinds of boys” later.
Or reallyanyboys, for that matter.
* * *
His pulse quickening in curious anticipation, Colt followed Penny through a heavy brocade curtain into what appeared to be a storage room. Dim and musty, the expansive space burst with an impressive assortment of oddball trinkets ranging from antique typewriters to rusty ice skates to ancient Polaroid cameras.
“This is where we sort through our most recent finds before pricing and displaying them in the store,” Penny explained, noticing his awe-stricken expression.
“Does it all come from estate sales?” Colt ran a hand along the mint-condition leather seat of a Schwinn tandem bicycle. It even had the quintessential white wicker basket attached to the handlebars.
“Some of it. I also buy and sell online. But my absolute favorite thing is when people drop items off. Sometimes they’ll bring several boxes at a time. It’s like Christmas morning. I never know what I’ll discover.”
Her coppery eyes sparkled from within, and for a moment, Colt found himself captivated, unable to speak for fear his words would somehow whisk away the winsome glow.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you enjoy one particular type of item more than others?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” With an exuberant grin, she skipped toward a long folding table covered in random objects. As though she were revealing a priceless work of art, she held up a black-and-white photograph encased in a dingy wooden frame.
Tilting his head to the side, Colt tried to discern what was so special about the stern, rigid-looking woman in a fur coat gazing at him with a forlorn glint in her coal-black eyes. “Am I missing something?”
Penny flipped the photo facedown. “It’s not the image I find fascinating. It’s what’sbehindit.”
Colt watched, mesmerized by the subtle transformation of her features, illuminated with wonder, as she removed the backing. “My dad taught me to always check photographs and paintings for an inscription. You won’t always find one. And sometimes, when you do, it’s merely a scribbled date or location. But if you’rereallylucky, you’ll find something special.”
“Like what?” Drawn to her infectious energy, Colt stepped closer, peering over her shoulder.
As she peeled the backing away from the photograph, her breath hitched.
But the yellowed paper underneath appeared to be blank.
Or so he thought.
Penny released a tiny squeal of excitement, jabbing her finger at the upper right corner. “There it is!” Squinting, she read the small, looping script out loud. “‘My angel. My breath of life. My everything. Elizabeth Rothchild, 1932.’ Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” She glanced over her shoulder, their faces so close, he could count the flecks of gold around her irises.
He gulped. Was the inscription the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen?
Not even close….
“Um…” Taking a step back, he ran his fingers through his hair, caught off guard by the thought. “That’s pretty cool.”
Sighing dreamily, Penny returned her gaze to the faint lettering, nearly faded into nonexistence with the passage of time. “Whenever we found something like this, Dad and I would make up elaborate backstories about the previous owners.”
“What would you come up with for this one?” Colt nodded toward the frame still clutched in her hands like a beloved family heirloom.
“Well…” She chewed her bottom lip as she contemplated his question, an adorable self-conscious tick Colt found far too alluring for his own good. “This was taken during the Great Depression. And based on her fur coat, she was probably a woman of means.” Her gaze flitted to his face before she quickly glanced away, her cheeks tinged pink.
He expected her to stop, too embarrassed to continue. But she seemed to come alive in the dimly lit, dusty space. Her stunning eyes took on a glazed, faraway look, as though lost in her own thoughts. “Her beau, Gregory Darby, was a poor factory worker without a cent to his name. They had a brief but earth-shattering romance until Elizabeth’s father married her off to Archibald Warner, an oil magnate running for political office. Beth gave this photograph to Gregory the night she said goodbye, sealing her farewell with a tender, soul-rending kiss.”
Colt stood motionless, completely at a loss for words. The richness of her imagination moved him more than he’d expected. And he doubted any arrangement of letters could adequately encapsulate how he felt. “That’s so…” He trailed off, his brain coming up blank.Imaginative? Romantic? Compelling?Colt rummaged through his vocabulary, finally blurting, “Sad.” He grimaced. Of all the words he could have chosen, he’d gone withsad?What an idiot.
Penny flushed, busying herself with returning the backing to its proper position. “Well, despite what Hallmark tries to tell you, most romances end in heartbreak.”
Colt couldn’t disagree. “Your dad seems like a really neat guy.”
“He was.” A wistful countenance settled across her features, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, staring at the floor.
